Ruby’s Cry

“God bless you, Hugh.”

I was ending one pastoral call when the telephone immediately began ringing again. I had not even finished summarizing my notes from the conversation with Hugh, but an unmistakable impression settled on my heart: Take this call.

I answered, “Pastoral Department, may I help you?”

There was no response.

“May I help you?” I repeated gently.

Silence filled the room. Then I heard a faint murmur—a timid sound followed by nearly twenty seconds of heavy breathing. Something was clearly wrong. This could be serious.

Finally, through a gentle gasp, a woman whispered, “Help me.”

“I’m here,” I assured her. “Take your time.”

Slowly, she began to speak. “I have been diagnosed with stage four cervical cancer. It has joined with another type of cancer, which is spreading into other areas of my body.”

Her words dissolved into tears. Then she apologized for crying.

“You are the first person I’ve told,” she continued. “As I speak, I’m hearing this for only the second time myself. I just returned home from the clinic. My mind is all over the place. I’m trying to connect all the dots—the what, where, when, and why. I need my Savior to give me strength.”

Her name was Ruby*. She explained that she had known something was not right, but she had never imagined it could be this serious.

“What do I do?” she asked. “I haven’t even told my children yet,” she gasped as another wave of tears came through the telephone.

There are moments when human words seem painfully inadequate. We cannot explain every tragedy. We cannot remove every diagnosis, answer every question, or promise that tomorrow will unfold as we desire. But we can offer something greater than our own understanding: the compassionate presence and unfailing promises of God.

“I am so sorry, Ruby,” I said. “I know your heart is heavy after receiving this news. Thank you for trusting us enough to call. I cannot imagine everything you are feeling right now, but you do not have to walk through this alone. The Lord is with you. His presence is promised.”

Ruby asked whether I could share a few appropriate Scriptures with her. She explained that she tried her best to live within the Lord’s boundaries and that hearing God’s Word always strengthened her.

I shared Deuteronomy 31:8: “The Lord Himself goes before you and will be with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.”

This promise does not tell us that we will never enter a frightening valley. It tells us that we will never enter it alone. Before Ruby ever arrived at the clinic, God was already there. Before she heard the diagnosis, He knew every detail. Before she faced the difficult conversation with her children, the Lord promised to go before her.

God does not always immediately remove the burden, but He offers to carry us through it. We can exchange our weakness for His strength, our confusion for His wisdom, and our fear for His peace.

I also shared Psalm 46:1: “God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.”

As we continued talking, I noticed a change in Ruby’s voice. She became more energized. The rhythm of our conversation changed. Her circumstances remained unchanged, but something within her was changing. The Word of God was lifting her eyes above the diagnosis and reminding her of the One who would remain beside her through every appointment, every conversation, and every uncertain day.

Ruby said, “When I read or hear Scripture, it does something special for me. It strengthens me.”

I agreed. God’s Word does not merely provide information—it ministers life to the wounded heart. It reminds us that fear does not have the final word. Cancer does not have the final word. Even death does not have the final word. Jesus does.

During our time together, Ruby seemed able to process some of the emotions that had overwhelmed her. She was beginning to gather the courage to speak with her children and share the difficult news.

I told her that, with her permission, I would add her first name to our Prayer Warrior list so that believers around the world could join her in prayer. She was deeply encouraged to know that Christian brothers and sisters she had never met would be lifting her before the throne of grace.

She then spoke lovingly about her two sons and said she believed I would really like them—and that they would appreciate me, as well. Even in the midst of her own heartbreak, Ruby’s thoughts were turning toward those she loved.

As the conversation ended, I thanked Jesus for allowing me to enter, even briefly, into this precious woman’s life. I offered to be available as she walked through the battle ahead. Ruby was comforted to know that there were like-minded believers who genuinely cared about her.

Perhaps today you are carrying news that feels too heavy to share. Perhaps you are facing an illness, a family crisis, a financial burden, or an uncertain future. Your thoughts may be scattered, and your heart may be asking the same questions Ruby asked: What? Where? When?

Why? What do I do now?

Begin by remembering this: You are not alone.

Jesus said in John 14:26–27: “The Helper, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in My name, He will teach you all things and bring to your remembrance all that I said to you. Peace I leave with you; My peace I give to you.… Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.”

The peace Jesus gives is not dependent upon perfect circumstances. It is the peace of His presence—the assurance that He is near, that He hears our cries, and that He will provide strength for each moment as it comes.

When you cannot see the road ahead, hold tightly to the hand of the One who can. When your strength is gone, receive His. When fear begins to speak, answer it with the promises of God.

Ruby called with a cry for help. By the end of our conversation, that cry had become a confession of faith.

The diagnosis remained, but so did her Savior.

And her Savior is greater.

*A pseudonym